by Menon, David
‘Sir, you’ve got to see this’ said DI Ollie Wright, looking up from his computer screen.
‘See what, Ollie?’ Jeff asked as he walked over to Ollie’s desk.
‘Chris O’Neill? Or should I say Christopher James O’Neill?’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s dead, sir’.
‘What?’
‘The Christopher James O’Neill who had that national insurance number and tax reference died almost a year ago of leukemia at a hospital in Belfast’ Ollie revealed. ‘Seems like we’re looking at a case of stolen identity’.
‘Yes’ Jeff agreed. ‘But for what reason?’
THROWN DOWN EIGHT
One of the economies Patricia and Dennis Knight had made after Dennis retired was to stop buying a daily paper as a matter of routine. They had the TV for news and always watched the evening bulletin, usually on channel 9. But if they did decide to get a daily paper on the basis of something specific being in a particular edition that they wanted to read about they’d always get the Melbourne-based national daily ‘The Age’. It was the one they’d got throughout their marriage when they’d both been working and they felt familiar with it.
But they never thought that one day they might be in it themselves for all the wrong reasons.
‘Mrs. Knight! Mrs. Patricia Knight! I’m Diane Parker, I’m a journalist on The Age newspaper. Have you seen the article in today’s edition about you and your past in Northern Ireland? We wanted to get your side of the story but you didn’t answer any of our calls. But it isn’t too late, Mrs. Knight. We can have your side of things in tomorrow’s edition and we’re prepared to sign an exclusive deal with you’.
Patricia was terrified. She’d woken up to find herself alone. Dennis was nowhere to be seen. Where had he gone? He hadn’t left a note. She’d tried calling him on his mobile but it kept going to voicemail. She didn’t know what to make of it. Had he left her? Was she on her own now? Had the sheer weight of history come crashing down on her? Was she finally having to pay her debts to the universe? Had she lost the only man who’d ever really meant anything to her and did she only have herself to blame? She couldn’t bear the thought of what she’d done to him. She’d broken his heart with her truth. He said he couldn’t stand even looking at her after what she’d told him. He’d slept in the spare room last night. It was the room where their grandchildren slept when they came over and stayed. She’d gone in there a few moments ago and found the bed made and tidy. Dennis always makes their bed in the same way. He’d done it all the way through their married life. She couldn’t lose him now. She just couldn’t lose him now. That would be worse than facing up to anything she’d done in the past. But it looked like he’d done a disappearing act. He didn’t want to speak to her. Perhaps he never would again.
‘Mrs. Knight! Mrs. Knight! I know you’re inside Mrs. Knight because I saw you twitching at the curtains. Mrs. Knight, I want to help you. I want to help you get your side of the story across to our readers. What we’ve published this morning is pretty damning, Mrs. Knight. Do you admit to being a member of the IRA back in the seventies before you emigrated to Australia? Do you admit your complicity in several serious crimes committed during that era? Mrs. Knight, it would make it easier on you if you co-operated with us. Soon this will be making the international media and then you really won’t have any control about what goes out about you. Is that the position you’d rather be in than talking to me now?’
The hallway through the house led in an L-shape from the front door round to the back where double doors opened onto the platted wood flooring where they kept the barbecue and a large table and chairs. Beyond that was the garden that was Dennis’s pride and joy. Patricia knew they couldn’t get round there because there was a locked gate at the side of the house that would prevent them. She squatted on the floor round the corner of the hallway where she couldn’t be seen from the front door. She was still in her night clothes. The journalist was shouting so loud that Patricia could hear her loud and clear. Her voice was hitting Patricia’s senses like a drill that needed some oil.
‘Mrs. Knight? We won’t be able to go away until you talk to us. You do understand that, don’t you? I’m on your side, Mrs. Knight. I don’t want you to get sucked into something awful by my more aggressive counterparts. I want the rules to be written by you and you alone’.
Patricia was sobbing as she held her bended knees to her chest and tried to stop herself from shaking. Where was Dennis? She tried his mobile again and still it went straight to voicemail. Surely he couldn’t have just walked out on her? Would he ever forgive her? And then there were the kids? Shane, Phoebe, and Michael. Would they say that she deserved the torment that was stabbing her in the heart right now?
‘Mrs. Knight? I have a letter here from my editor. It promises you a rather large sum of money to tell your story. You won’t get any better offer anywhere else I promise you. Mrs. Knight, it really is in your interest to talk to me. I’m happy to wait until you feel ready’.
There was a side of Patricia that was tempted by the offer being so graciously made by the journalist outside. It might help to get her side out into the public domain. After all she still hadn’t been able to work out who could’ve broken the story in the first place and how that person or persons had found out where she was. Not even her dear brother Padraig had known exactly where she was. All he’d known was that she was somewhere in Australia. Well it’s a big place if you don’t know where someone is who’s living there. She wouldn’t know where to start if she’d been looking for someone here. But had Padraig been looking for her? Had whoever had killed him made him tell them where she was? Would they be coming for her now?
The fixed phone in the kitchen started to ring. It made her jump. Not many people called either her or Dennis on that anymore. They usually just rang their mobiles. It was probably a commercial call. Somebody cold selling home insurance from a call centre in somewhere like Bangalore. Not that Patricia minded that side of it. They were always very polite and courteous. But she couldn’t deal with them today. However friendly they always were she really didn’t have the head space for them now.
The fixed phone stopped ringing. Then her mobile started ringing immediately after. She was clutching it in her hand and when she looked at the caller ID she saw that it was her friend and neighbour Molly. She pressed ‘answer’ and held the phone up to her ear.
‘Patricia? Patricia, it’s me love, are you alright? I just tried you on the landline. What’s going on, Patricia? What are all those press people doing outside your place? They’re making a hell of a racket. And you’re in the paper, love. Did you know? Oh you must know. Patricia? Patricia?’
‘Dennis is gone’ she whimpered.
‘What? Dennis is gone? What do you mean he’s gone?’
‘I woke up this morning and he wasn’t here’.
Molly looked out of her window again. ‘Well you’re right his car isn’t there’.
‘I don’t know what to do, Molly’
‘I’m coming round’ said Molly. ‘I’ve still got a key for round the back, remember? I’ll cut through the hedges, the press won’t see me. And on the way I’ll call the police. They should know what’s going on here’.
Molly and her husband Ray had been friends with Patricia and Dennis for many years. They went back a long way. They were a couple of years younger than Patricia and Dennis and Ray was due to retire this upcoming summer. Molly had always been a stay at home housewife, just like Patricia had been mostly, raising her four kids whilst Ray worked for the electricity company. They’d all now flown the nest but the two families had many shared experiences involving times such as Christmas and birthdays and the four ‘seniors’ enjoyed a good, solid and enduring friendship. Patricia couldn’t help but wonder how long that was going to last now that Molly knew about her past.
Molly let herself in through the back door and was careful to lock it shut again after her. She saw Patricia in a heap o
n the floor and her heart went out to her. She went down and held her friend whilst Patricia sobbed.
‘Come on now, love’ said Molly. ‘Whatever it is we’ll fix it’.
‘You can’t fix this, Molly’
‘So what about all this stuff in the paper?’
‘I don’t know’ said Patricia. ‘I haven’t seen it. Although I’ve got a bloody good idea’.
‘They say that you were involved with the IRA back there in Belfast in the seventies?’
‘That’s true’.
‘And that you were behind the murder of your boyfriend who was also in the IRA and that you betrayed your best friend who’s body they still haven’t been able to find?’
‘Yes’ Patricia confirmed. ‘That’s true too’.
‘And that you were the instigator behind countless murders of protestant men?’
‘Well that’s stretching it a bit’.
‘But there’s some truth in that?’
‘Yes’ said Patricia who didn’t see any use in lying to Molly about anything.
‘I see’ said Molly who relaxed her hold round her friend slightly. It had recently been all over the media in Australia about a gang of Islamic extremists who’d been planning to mount a suicide bombing attack on the recent Anzac day commemorations in the centre of Melbourne. Their plans had been thwarted by the security services and they were all now in prison awaiting trial. The situation that Patricia had found herself in had probably been very different, thought Molly. Or was it? She’d been a terrorist and there is only one definition of that as far as Molly had always been concerned.
‘You’ve got to understand, Molly, that I was a very different woman then to the one you know me as now’ Patricia pleaded. ‘I know it must’ve come as something of a shock to learn about what I did, especially from a story in The Age, but please try and see? I was young. I’d grown up in a violent household where my father used to beat up my mother and thrash my brothers to within an inch of their bloody lives. The British state picked on me just because I was a Catholic and the IRA were the only people who gave me somewhere to go. Our community had to fight back, Molly’.
‘I saw all the news reports back then, Pat’ said Molly who was struggling but trying to understand what her friend must’ve gone through. ‘I can’t for the life of me even begin to appreciate what you had to live through. I’m just your average Australian woman who’s known nothing except the ups and downs of family life and whether or not to keep on voting for the ALP. So I do get it, Pat. I do’.
‘But you don’t feel it in your heart, Molly. Do you?’
‘I’m still getting there, Pat’ said Molly. She wondered if all those Islamic extremist terrorists had ever tried to plead their case in the same way. ‘But you’re my friend and you’ve been a very good friend to me over the years. That has to count for something’.
‘Mrs. Knight, is that your husband in there with you?’ Diane Parker wanted to know. She was trying to get a reaction before the two police officers who’d just pulled up managed to get in there on behalf of Patricia Knight. But it wasn’t to be.
Constables Newton and Whitaker arrived on the scene and with their usual flourish they managed to persuade Diane Parker and her photographer colleague to move away from Patricia’s front door despite her protests that they were ‘just doing our job’. It’s true that they weren’t actually breaking the law but the police officers explained that they were close to the line that crossed over into harassment and that Mrs. Knight had every right to privacy. Once they’d moved away to set up camp beside the road, the officers rang the door bell themselves before calling out.
‘It’s the police! Could somebody come to the door, please?’
Molly went to the door and explained that it was her who’d called them out and that Mrs. Patricia Knight had been very distressed by the whole incident. They came in and saw that Patricia was indeed in a state and wanted to call a doctor. She assured them she’d be fine and Molly said she would stay to look after her friend. After that they were happy to consider the job done.
‘Strike me bloody pink!’ said Molly after she’d closed the door. ‘Where do they get these bloody good looking young policemen from these days? They were never like that when I was a girl’.
Patricia was taken back momentarily to the days when she’d loved her own handsome policeman, James Carson.
Things became progressively worse as the day rolled on. More and more journalists came to join the camp at the bottom of Patricia’s driveway and she still couldn’t get hold of Dennis. It was making her feel physically sick to think of him out there somewhere where she couldn’t get to him. Did somebody have him somewhere? All kinds of wild, ridiculous thoughts were racing through her head. Then there were the kids. She hadn’t heard from any of them and surely they must know what was happening by now? They probably hadn’t been able to get through on either the fixed line or the mobile phone. They’d both been ringing so much that she’d unplugged the fixed line and had switched her mobile off. It felt like she was in a room with no door and the walls, floor and ceiling were closing in on her slowly but surely. She felt so utterly helpless. She wanted to take a bat and smash everything she could see all around her. Then she wanted to attack herself with it.
Thank God for Molly. She’d stayed with her all day and had even made her some lunch but she hadn’t been able to eat. She just kept on sipping on a glass of water, curled up and crying.
But then something snapped inside her soul. What bloody good was she doing lying around the place like this? If whoever was behind the unveiling of her past could see her now they would no doubt be highly satisfied by the state she was in. Well she was damned if she was going to give them that satisfaction. It was time to get a hold of herself and stop this sinking into the abyss that she’d been indulging in. She was so much stronger than that.
She had a shower and changed her clothes. Molly made a pot of strong coffee and this time Patricia managed to eat a ham sandwich. It was getting on for four o’clock.
‘Your Ray will be home from work soon’ said Patricia.
‘I called him when you were in the shower’ said Molly. ‘He’s going straight to the pub after work for something to eat and he’ll stay there for a couple. He won’t be back until later’.
‘Oh I’m sorry, Molly’.
‘Sorry? What for?’
‘For disrupting your whole family life like this’.
‘Don’t be silly’ said Molly. ‘He can manage having his dinner in the pub once in a while. He sends his love and in the meantime I’m going to get you settled down a bit and then you’re coming back with me for the night’.
‘But what if Dennis comes home?’
‘Then I’m sure he’ll check with us to see if we’ve seen you’ said Molly. ‘I’m not arguing, love. I’m not leaving you on your own tonight’.
It was then that Patricia suffered a relapse and started to weep again. If only she could hear something from Dennis or one of the kids.
Detective Constable Colette Ryan of the Victoria state police had been given the job of looking into the whole Patricia Knight case. She had to investigate whether or not any crime had been committed whilst Mrs. Knight had been living in Australia and if, therefore, an investigation needed to be launched from their end that would tie up with what was going on back in the UK. They tended to get a fair amount of UK related cases to deal with of one form or another. Her boss, Detective Inspector Ed Burns, had ranted earlier that day that somebody ought to tell the Brits that Australia was no longer a penal colony and they couldn’t just throw their criminals down at them whenever they felt like it. Colette and some of her colleagues had tried to point out that Patricia Knight had come down to Australia by her own free will and hadn’t been sent by anybody. But her boss wasn’t having any of it and she didn’t much care. She’d got a job to get on with and she was determined to do it to the extent that would get her noticed for all the positive reasons.
Cole
tte had only recently come back to work after having taken six weeks off with stress caused by her marriage breaking up. Her husband had left her for an air stewardess he’d met whilst on a business trip to Perth. He’d been staying in the same hotel as the crew who’d been on his flight over and who were all based in Melbourne. He’d got talking to the particular stewardess in question in the hotel bar that night and one thing led to another. He’d later admitted that he’d been flirting with her on the flight that day and that he’d fallen out of love with Colette a long time before this happened and that the stewardess had given him the sex of a lifetime. Colette had been heartbroken but taking the time off hadn’t gone down well with her boss who already had a pretty low opinion of her qualities as a police officer anyway. She knew it wasn’t because she was a woman although there were several other women in the team he led and he didn’t give them the kind of hassle he gave her. He singled her out. It was bullying. He just didn’t like her and he wanted her off his team. Well he could get to fuck. She wasn’t going anywhere especially when she knew she was better than some of those he bestowed with praise. But if he’d like to move then he was more than welcome and she wouldn’t stand in his way.
‘Mrs. Knight? Mrs. Patricia Knight?’ asked Colette when a woman answered the door and Colette held up her ID badge.
‘No, sorry, I’m Mrs. Molly Evans from next door’ said Molly who then let Colette in and closed the door firmly. ‘I’ve been giving my friend some moral support today. She’s really needed it. But she’s actually feeling a bit better now. She’s heard from all of her three kids and they’re all on their way over. They live in the city so they’ll be a while yet. She still hasn’t heard from her husband Dennis though. Do you have any news on him?’
